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MONOLOGUE: Why Am I Getting Married Again?

by Claire Balfour
Setting: bare stage with a chair, a nightclub
in England with faint dance music in
the background

Time: present at night

Character: SUSIE, British, mid 30s

SUSIE staggers on wearing a hen’s party outfit—party dress and high heels, short white veil, feather boa, bunny ears, learner driver’s plates around her neck and “Born Again Virgin” sign on her back. She’s quite drunk carrying an open bottle of cheap champagne.

SUSIE

(Singing loudly and out of tune) “It’s my party and I’ll sing if I want to, sing if I want to…”

(Looking around a bit confused) Where’ve all my mates, where have they gone, the cheeky bitches, leaving me on my own when it’s my do.

(Shouts loudly and out of key and tempo) “I’m going to the chapel and I’m going to get married.”

(Sits down clumsily, clutching her bottle of cheap champagne).

I’m getting married next weekend. Yeah. He’s lovely. (Slowly and over-pronounced) Ewan. That’s his name, my man I mean, he’s called Ewan. He’s lovely. Great guy, really lovely. And loves me, so that’s a bonus. I’ve landed myself a winner with that one, I mean, he’s so nice, but I mean really so so so nice. Nice guy.

My mum was beside herself when she met him, it was like, it was like all her birthdays and Christmases had come at once: he’s the same age as me, he has a good job, he owns his own house, he has a nice car, he even has a gym membership, he’s just great. On paper.

And I can tell what my mum is thinking; grandkids… at last, yeah! I don’t know though because when you get to my age (points to her womb) the eggs are getting a bit old and stale so I don’t even know if I’m going to be able to produce an heir to keep the blood line going. She might be disappointed.

She’s already told me she’s hoping I’ll “fall pregnant” soon after the wedding (loud whisper) cause of my age you know? (Pause) What a weird thing to say—”fall pregnant”! It sounds like Ewan is going to be lying on the floor naked with an erect willie and I’m going to come into the room without any panties on and not see him and trip over him and land on his todger, then a few weeks later find out I’m up the duff! Strange, very strange. (Pause) Up the duff, that’s a weird one as well, do I even know what a duff is?

And Ewan wants kids too of course… but I don’t know, just having a house with a cat, or a dog, or even a budgie would be just fine by me, because me, see me, I still want to go on holiday with my mates every now and again and I don’t want to be suctioned cupped to the mouth of some baby sucking off my booby (makes suckling noises then screws up her face). Ewww, (looks down at her breasts and grabs them) they’d be all saggy by the time it’d finished with them.

(With sudden inspiration) But I suppose I could put it on the bottle then Ewan could stay at home and look after it cos he’s the one that keeps talking about having one, but I don’t know, I just don’t think… I don’t think babies are my cup of coffee.

And he’s in his late 30s so his swimmers might not even make it to the finish line because of too many years of all that cycling that he did… I think his swimmers might be a little bit slow and disabled. No Speedos on his swimmers eh? No Michael Phelps in his pants (hiccups).

I don’t know (sways a bit off balance), I don’t know… why is it I’m getting married again? (Groans) I was having fun on my own but I just got so sick and tired of every time I went to a party or a family function people would be so nosey: (in an old croan’s voice) “So are you married, do you have kids, are you engaged yet? NO! Not even a boyfriend! Why not?” It’s like they’re implying there’s something wrong with me because I’m in my 30s and not married. (Sighs) I was fed up of feeling like a social leper by just being single (puts on a scolding motherly voice) “at my age.”

And, and, and my mates, even they turned against me. It was like… it was like I wasn’t safe to included in their wee secret club of couples. The more that got coupled off the less invites I got, it was like I was going to infect them with my singleness, (sarcastic voice) “oohhh, don’t invite Susie, she’ll make our dinner party have an odd number.”

(Pause) It used to be fun being single… then it got quite lonely…

(Takes a swig out of the bottle and burps) But, but Ewan… he’s lovely, he really is so very nice. Any mother would love him, would love him.

Do you know, there’s even a syndrome named after it now, I mean for women like me—in their 30s and unmarried—Bridget Jones Syndrome. Can you believe it? Well if I decide not to marry Ewan, maybe… not… next weekend… I’ll see… but if I get to my 40s and I’m still single I’m going to start my own syndrome—Jennifer Anniston Syndrome, and that’ll shut them up. That’ll shut them up.

(Sings) “I’m going to the chapel”…

(Looks about her) Where’ve those girls gone?

Really, no really I was just sick of people asking me before I met Ewan why I was still single? I know that it’s supposed to be some sort of a compliment in a way but it’s so patronising. Do you know, my boss actually asked me if I was a secret lesbian! Can you believe that?! Me, a carpet-muncher, looking like this, I don’t think so! Ewww no I prefer sausage over fish any day of the week, thank you. So I started saying that I just hadn’t met a man yet with a cock big enough to satisfy me. And I tell you this; that soon shut them up.

But Ewan, bless him, he’s so nice, he really is lovely. Looks, looks like a bit of a donkey but he performs like a stallion so that should keep me happy. As long as I leave the lights off. He’s so nice, really.

(Looks about her, takes another swig, gets up and staggers off stage singing out of key) “I will survive, oh now go, walk out that door, just turn around now cos I will survive.”

Our horse is exhausted. We must place a hold on unsolicited monologue submissions, dear writers.

Dramatists—due to an overwhelming influx of monologue submissions, and a strategy to redesign our non-papyrus journal, we must place a moratorium on unsolicited submissions toThe Good Ear Review for the moment. We will keep you posted on our ethos. Thank you for your patience, writer-peoples. -- Sir Tristram Bexindale-Webb, Editor-in-Chief

Tristram Stjohn Bexindale-Webb, editor-in-chief

"I am the best judge of all things." Which is why Mr. Bexindale-Webb (knighthood pending) had appointed himself the review's Editor-in-Chief – and has been thus for the past 147 years. He is the brainchild behind The Good Ear Review and without him many urchins would be acquiring their Chimney Maintenance Certification instead of fetching his house slippers and proofing complex sentences.